#it is called Float

[ygodmyy20]

it's messy as hell, the perspective makes no sense, and there is so much wackiness going on.

but it makes me happy when I look at it.

Maybe it will make someone else happy too.

[stuckinapril]

[a-jasminator]

cherishing each other's true forms

bonus orb husbands:

[sandeewithtwoe]

I’m not good at drawing cows please forgive me

Horror belongs to sour-apple-studios

Farm belongs to GuinongTale_AU

Transcript:

Horror: Alright, that’s enough work for today

Horror: Hey, Farm! Are you almost done with- uh…

Farm: Ah! There you are!

Farm: Please excuse my gaster blaster, I take my eyes off her for 5 seconds and she goes off doing her own thing

Horror: THAT’S your gaster blaster?

Farm: Uh yeah? Doesn’t yours look like this too?

Horror: …Heh, no, not at all

Farm: (He really seems to like her. Are cows his favourite animal?)

Horror: <- Is planning so many pranks on Cross right now

[izzystizzys]

TW: discussion of something approximating suicidal tendencies but with the usual crack programming of this blog

“Ah, High General Windu”, says Fox, pleasantly. “So we meet again.”

High General Windu raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him, Fox thinks, though it’s getting hard to tell with all the blood rushing to his head. “If I let you go, will you try to throw yourself out of another window?”

Fox makes a vague shrugging motion - or tries to, anyways. It’s hard to tell where any of his limbs are going, hanging upside down in the air as he is. “I am willing to discuss terms.” A bridge will do just fine.

Impossibly, the High General’s eyebrows climb even further up his forehead. “A compromise, then, esteemed Commander.” And so, he righths Fox the head way up in the air, but leaves him floating just above the ground, at which point several painted shells come skidding around the corner followed by billowing robes and screeches.

“WHAT”, says Kote, calmly, “THE BANTHA-KARKED, FORCE-LOVING KRIFF, FOX.”

“You’ll short out your helmet mic”, Fox advises him, sagely. Fondly, he thinks back to decimating his own on only his second time in the newly-christened official Coruscant Guard Scream Closet. He’d just received the comm about the Zillo Beast being transported to 000, and made sure to take his bucket off thereafter to improve the quality of his closet time.

High General Windu’s face does something complicated between sympathy and constipation.

Because the Galaxy doesn’t hate Fox enough already and Cody wasn’t enough on his own, Wolffe elbows his way through their batch to plant himself in front of him, shoulders squared and shaking with repressed rage. “If you try that again, dickhead”, he begins, in a low growl that quite frankly sounds more cringe that intimidating, “I’m going to resurrect you and then kill you again.”

“Ah, Wolffe”, Plo Koon says, in his deep, shivery timbre, “Remember our conversations about effective conflict resolution and communication of needs?”

Wolffe’s eyes narrow at Fox, because all non-Guard are sweet summer children who walk around buckets off on 000 like absolute lunatics. Fox prays they never have to find out why that’s a bad idea. “I feel”, his ori’vod presses out between clenched teeth, “that if you make me watch you throw yourself out of another window, I’m going to jump after you and strangle you on the way down, you little bitch.”

“That’s fair”, says Fox, and watches High General Kenobi bury his face in his hands. Wolffe twitches in place and makes an aborted groaning noise, the hypocrite.

“Excuse me, High Marshall Commander Fox, but I fail to see what’s so dire about this situation that the Jedi High Council and your brothers cannot help you solve”, says Windu, the only sane one left on this Force-forsaken bloated corpse of a planet. Behind the gaggle of Jedi and ori’vode already gathered in front of Fox, the rest of them come veering around the corner in a commotion that’s quite frankly embarrassing. High General Yoda is mounted on Skywalker’s back like he’s a race-Eopie, which is Fox’ only consolation.

He got up this morning at 0300, bleary-eyed and with a pounding headache as always, and all was right in the world. And then Fox got called into the Jedi High Council’s chambers and was ceremoniously informed that in the wake of Chancellor Palpatine’s unfortunate demise (hah), and through the emergency state of the Senate, as well as several invented promotions foisted on Fox to make the delegation of any and all paperwork less shady, he was now next in the chain of command and-

Well, Fox is the acting Chancellor, in short.

Haha, he had said, and been meet with several seconds of silence, until it got both awkward and exceedingly painful. Wait, he’d said. You’re kriffing serious.

Kriffing serious, we are, had said High General Yoda, and thus Fox launched himself out the first best window with a maniacal cackle of, you’ll have to catch me first!

And catch him, High General Windu sure did.

“The will of the Force this is”, Yoda interrupts Fox’ train of thought. He scans him thoughtfully from beneath his wizened brow, and hems to himself. “Shake things up, this will. Determine the fate of the Galaxy, this shall. A feeling, I have, that a good Chancellor you will make. A better one, hmmm.”

“That’d be high praise, if not for the fact that a dead lemming would make for a better Chancellor than the last one”, says Fox, drawing and indignant gasp from Skywalker. He doesn’t bother with either that or the green goblin’s cackle, lost in the deep sense of resignation that settles over his shoulders like a suffocating blanket.

“Alright, then, get me Thorn on the comm. As my first act in office, I’m firing all the Jedi. No offense, but you’re kind of a disaster. Then, someone get me to the Chancellor’s office, I’m calling Dooku to let him know the war’s off. And please get me Judicial, they’ll be up all night working on my datafolders - I’m having the Senate arrested.”

“Who - is - arresting - “, Bly pants, hands on his knees from where he’s just come sprinting around the corner with his Jedi.

Underneath his bucket, Fox smiles a smile that’s all teeth. “The Senate”, he says, sweetly, wondering if he’s just imagined the shiver that’s gone through the room. “I’m suing the Senate, and taking them all into temporary custody for abuse of sentient rights.”

[kaialone]

[soupy-sez]

A Tribe Called Quest, 1993, photo by Al Pereira

[naffeclipse]

What if Eclipse from AP was a naga? And this took place in the deep jungle of the amazon, where photographer y/n is trying to take pictures of the wildlife?

I'm vibrating at the speed of sound over this ask while also nudging my naga au

Naga Eclipse from AP would have the tail of a Green Anaconda, with an olive green scaly color dotted with black, framed by burning-like flares of orange along the length of his slithery body. He's also decorated with orange-yellow striping on either side of his long, slipper form. His upper half is scaley with a lithe deadliness to his musculature and decorated by frills surrounding his head with brighter orange-yellow colors, almost hypnotic in their gradient hues. One eye is deep emerald green, and one is midnight blue.

Lucky you—you're out on a once-in-a-lifetime expedition to explore a jungle closed off to the public, funded by Fazco, and occupied by two researchers who will be your bunkmates for the next few weeks. You're itching to take photos of the large river, including swamps, marshes and streams, and whatever wildlife is out there.

The few locals you did meet before you left to hike the rest of the way to what would be your new, isolated home warned you of a dangerous snake—a large, mythical beast. You take note of the local folklore. You understand the truth is hidden in there somewhere, and you are well aware of the dangers and diseases you could be met with in such a harsh environment, but you're determined.

It doesn't take long for you to feel eyes watching you when you first venture out by yourself. You take beautiful pictures of freshwater fish, big and beautiful, unlike any you have ever seen. Of course, you have hundreds of snapshots of the local flora, the trees, the floating meadows, the thick vines that drape each branch and hang thickly about the ground. You almost forget that you eerily don't feel alone.

But you swear something moves in the water—the ripples stop as soon as you look. The stillness is suddenly stiff, lifeless. Even the birds have stopped chirping.

You lower your camera and carefully put it away. A trickle of fear slips into your heart. You turn away from the river's edge only to be met by a low hiss and a creature, unlike anything you witnessed in your travels, spooling itself neatly out of the water, blocking your path to the base. An incredible creature with long arms and a great, serpentine tail that seems to stretch for yards and yards. You can hardly breathe in his presence—he's otherworldly with his frills and scales and fangs.

His eyes contain a mesmerizing shine as if staring into a fire as it burns or watching the ocean as it laps up against the beach, drawing your attention, demanding you don't look away. You couldn't anyway. Half-frozen, you struggle to keep from collapsing. He beckons with a sharp talon. He hisses softly for you to come closer, mouse. He wants to see you. You try to beg no without revealing how terribly you tremble. He doesn't let you go. He insists. His eyes flash with an allure. You almost step close when he murmurs that you need to be good.

But then your sense of survival kicks adrenaline into your heart, and you turn to run—

He strikes faster than your eyes can follow. Two loops of his green and orange tail surrounded you in an instant. You're dragged to the ground, your arms pinned under his mass, and the back of your head cradled by his large palm as powerful muscles squeeze you in the slightest—a gentle rebuke for thinking you could get away. You're hyper-aware of the terrifying bulk of muscles as you lie trapped in his coils. One strong twist and your eyes could pop out of your skull, and every bone protecting your heart and lungs would crumble to shards. You gasp. An urge to kick your legs and struggle erupts in your panic; a sinking feeling tells you it would only make things worse.

He coos over you, hissing and humming in an ancient song of the jungle you have no name for. When you whimper, he shushes you and strokes your cheek. He tells you how lovely you'll be. When you talk back to him, somehow finding your tongue amid your horror, you find out his name. Eclipse. He moves you more upright, resting you on his tail so you're not petrified by how vulnerable you feel lying down, but he never loosens his scaly bindings. He hovers over you. You gaze into his stunning frills of yellow-orange and wonder how a being like him came to exist. He studies you as you study him. He grins at how you shiver when he traces your collarbone with a sharp fingertip.

You remind yourself that you can still breathe. He hasn't crushed you—yet—but you don't like how wide his smile is. Sometimes, his jaw stretches a little too long as if dislocating from his skull, ready to devour you. His eyes gleam with a ravenousness as scales twist around you, holding you close enough to smell the slick green water he had been in and deep musk.

He tells you that he'll see you again very soon—away from other humans, lest you bring him a fine gift for a meal. You can only flex your fingers, silently pleading in your heart that he won't unhook his jaw and eat you alive.

Then, he unravels himself from your limbs. But before he lets you go entirely, he leans in close, his serpentine tongue flickering close to your neck and by your hair, tasting the air around you as you muster all your strength to not scream. He inhales deeply, pleased, before he murmurs, "Sweet mouse. You are mine. Say it."

You don't understand, but you echo his command, and when he taps your chin once in what might have been a loving gesture, you force your jelly legs to solidify before you run and run, all the way back to base. You slam the door to your room behind you. You touch your ribs, your arms, still caught in the heavy sensation of his loops as if he were upon you right now.

The stories are true—there is a giant snake in this jungle, and he wants you. You're afraid to discover if Eclipse's intrigue with you is only an exotic way to satisfy his hunger.

[ipostmysimpingstuffanonymously]

hello! i want to say i live for ur satoshoko art i love every single one of it 🥺 i lowkey wanna see domestic satoshoko being awkward first parents w an infant like them arguing abt what to do and who gets to do what when their child cries, a panicked first time dad gojo with a chill shoko (but deep down is actually anxious as well) is kinda funny... anyways thank u again for feeding the satoshoko community rly well

Hiiii. Thanks for the ask. I took some liberty with this one. I can't see them being super panicked at all but I can see them not being able to handle a Gojo baby ahhahaha So this is my take on it!

[pampanope]

Istg, you and the person who made Moose are like MVPs of Shadow Company OCs. I love both your stuff so much I bet many (including me!) have been inspired to make a shadow oc thanks to you both <3

(Fr tho I thought most Shadows you drew were canon or from a seperate comic or something but then WAIT THEY'RE OCS?? WHAT—)

Thank you!! That’s high praise!! 💕💕 I just be putting scenarios of Shadows having ✨adventures✨ into comics and I just wanna drag other people into the same pit of fixation along with mee >:D

I love Moose omgg. More Moose please, dear Moose creator 👀

Yes, we love to see more Shadow OCs! Smother Graves in ALL the Shadows lol

(Aaaaaaaahh no way, you got me giggling into my pillow agdhdhsj like, i think it’s cuz i want my oc to be canon so bad 👀)

[neproxrezi]

someone else could write it better than me but i love how the fucked up nasty shit you can make harry do/say/be in disco elysium isn't just like, random stuff caused simply by the player having free will and control over him but they're parts of who he is and who he has been

you're not a tabula rasa. you're a sudden shock of blank pages in a big, aged, damaged book and sometimes the paper you're trying to write a better man on is torn and you see something through the gaps nobody needed to see ever again. and it's just there now again, back to the surface

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

One last devastating blow

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[sufficientlylargen]

I've found my new favorite units chart (from wikimedia commons).

[unitedstates0fdakota]

Thinking about the skills again ok so what’s up with the deal/vow Harry made with Volition 16 years ago and what exactly does it entail? The way he says “I’m failing you” like he has an individual end of the bargain to hold up that goes beyond the agreed upon wake up time. So how long has he had these skills? Have they been with him his whole life? Did they all come at once, or did they add on one by one? On top of that (and I know this dialogue is silly but in my defense it was put in front of me and therefore I will talk about it) there’s the dialogue where they all talk about being located in different places/pushing buttons/talking about Harry like he isn’t there (and he isn’t, since one you get out of the loop your dialogue options indicate that he has no memory of what just happened)

Okay, so they all exist in different spaces, but they can see each other, because they refer to each other by what they look like (not by name though! As far as I can remember?)

So what’s their deal?!? These guys seem to exist in some capacity without him, but they still live inside of him and (if Volition is right) have been there for at least 16 years (at least, volition has, and again, if he’s right) maybe, like how shivers is part of Revachol herself, the other skills are also a part of something greater that’s speaking to you? That might explain why most of them are “he” but shivers is “she” and Rhetoric and perception are “we” and “they”

Idk I just find it fascinating and really really cool. I wanna hear what you guys think! Or if I missed some dialogue that actually explains everything that I talked about haha. Let me know!!! :3

[koujaaku]

I made this when Qi Rong's picture from the english-translated novel was revealed, but guess I have to make one for the manhua too because no one learned the lesson...

[jasontoddsgaythoughts]

If DC wants to keep pushing out different types of Gotham War comics for every year, they may as well make a Gotham Batman Ships war next year. They get to make light fun of their fans. Batman is spread all over somewhat romantically like hummus. They get to bring in different heroes and Gotham villains to fight reluctantly (they don’t want the Batman they just want the honor). The batkids get to sit cute on the sidelines and laugh at their dad’s misery. It’s fun